


Tainted Love

by meh_guh



Category: Marvel
Genre: Creeper, Happy Ending, M/M, kinkmeme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meh_guh/pseuds/meh_guh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint isn't worried. Slightly creepy or not, this is the first fan he's ever had and no one is going to convince him to freak out about it. On the extra-bonus plus-side, he's finally gotten in Agent Coulson's pants, so all in all, this week's been pretty awesome.<br/>So far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Spin Me Right Round, Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Based on this prompt from agarwaenloth on round 6 avengers kinkmeme:  
> Clint gets a fan following headed by a particular zealous fan (male or female, up to you). At first, he thinks it's totally awesome because, hey, these fan chose him over all the other Avengers, which is totally awesome considering he's the only fully human member (because Tony and Natasha SO don't count, lol). Things start get a bit annoying but he can handle. When is relationship starts to develop with Coulson, though, the president of his fan club get possessive. Cue dead flowers, slashed tires, broken windows, death threats, etc. Things go downhill from there and ends up with Clint in serious danger.
> 
> Bonus: Clint doesn't live in Stark Towers yet and this is what really prompts the team to move in together.
> 
> EDIT: the thread is getting 500ish word chunks of update that will be edited and posted here when I feel it's big enough to call a chapter, so you can also read at http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/6021.html?thread=9013893#t9013893

The first few times the flowers turn up on his doorstep, Clint moves them to Felicia's door, figuring the loser she was dating had somehow forgotten which door to stumble drunkenly though.

A week after the first time, when he's bent over to set the most recent of the increasingly-large bouquets on her mat, she opens the door.

'Hello,' he tries, frozen half stooped and effectively addressing her knees. 'You should really tell whatshisface to check the apartment number; just saying.'

Felicia frowns prettily at him. 'Have you checked the cards? Because they aren't for me.'

Clint blinks at her skirt's hem, then straightens, pulling the little card out from between an enormous puff of some pale blue things, and something he feels vaguely justified in terming a rose.

'Huh,' he stares at his name, loopy and calligraphied like he's never seen it done before. 'Sorry, Felicia, I just assumed-'

'It's fine,' she grins, leaning back into her apartment and handing him a stack of cards. 'I was going to drop these off tonight after I got home. Looks like you've got a fan.'

'Looks like I do,' Clint grins back, flicking through a stack of _Thank you for saving us _and __You looked really hot taking out that Doombot _and __Damn, the gun show is good, how about some shirtless next time _, which looks kinda bizarre in copperplate, but is a welcome boost to his ego. 'Have fun today.'____

Felicia winks at him, pulling her door closed and walking towards the elevator with a bit of an extra swing in her hips that Clint can't help but track. He whistles after her, and she laughs, shimmying her skirt before she disappears around the corner.

Clint looks down at the cards again, then goes back inside to pin them on the ceiling over his bed. He's got a _fan _.__

****

'Watch it, Hawkeye!' Coulson's voice snaps over his earpiece, as Thunderball's wrecking ball whizzes past Clint's perch.

'Pfft,' Clint flips over the chain one-handed, hurling a smoke-arrow at the big guy's stupid face. 'Please, Phil. It's all good. Would I have a fan club if I weren't totally badass?'

'Talk to me when they've unionised,' Stark scoffs, flying past shooting lazy repulsor blasts at Bulldozer's feet until he stumbles, knocking himself silly on one of SHIELD's tanks. Black-clad agents swarm out with Stark's newest, shiny guaranteed-to-work-this-time restraints, and then haul him away to the carrier.

Clint shades his eyes, checking on Widow (landing sting-enhanced kidney punches on Wrecker before vaulting off his shoulders to get dragged to safety by Thor), Cap (slinging his shield at Thunderball's exposed back, knocking the great big booby into a lamppost), and Hulk (trading blows with Piledriver and looking entirely too happy about the destruction). He sends a few explosive rounds at Wrecker's back, pissing him off enough to turn and give Thor the opening to smite with extreme prejudice, to the tunes of a disturbingly-mournful cry of 'I'll get you next time!'

Stark slingshots around the Helicarrier, slamming into Thunderball at about Mach 3, and 'Iron Man: two for two,' he does a ridiculous in-suit shimmy, pointing at Cap and twirling on the spot before blasting away again.

'Thanks for the assist, Iron Man,' Cap says over the comms, sounding only a little annoyed at the interference. 'Avengers! Converge on Piledriver-'

There's a cry of 'SMASH!!' audible without the comms, and Hulk grins around at everyone as Piledriver groans into Hulk's foot for a moment before slumping into unconsciousness.

'OK,' Cap changes tack. 'Good work, team. SHIELD can take it from here, back to the Helicarrier.'

Stark zooms up behind him, grabbing Cap around the waist without warning and shoots towards the hangar bay. Thor extends a courteous hand to Widow, which she takes, smiling. Hulk just jumps.

Sighing, Clint free-climbs his way down the facade of the building he'd been on, jumping the last fifteen feet to land in front of Coulson.

'Date not turned up, Hawkeye?' Phil says, a smile in his voice that's not evident on his face. 'Don't worry, I'll take you out for a milkshake. Let you cry into my shoulder about how cruel the world is.'

Clint collapses his bow. 'Nah. Wouldn't want to ruin that Armani with all my snotty tears. I'll take a lift up when you go, though.'

There's a commotion at the blockade, Avengers fans jumping up and down shouting now that there's no danger of anything worse than a pissed off SHIELD agent lobbing a tear-gas grenade at the really annoying ones. Clint grins, waving a sloppy salute and an even sloppier kiss at the crowd.

'I think Henderson can handle things down here,' Phil says softly, hand coming to rest at the small of Clint's back. 'Let's head up for debriefing.'

Ruthlessly suppressing a shiver, Clint drops his hand. 'Yeah, OK.'

****

The bouquet the next day has a note that reads _'You were super hot out there, but you shouldn't let him touch you like that. Let me make you dinner?' ___

Clint frowns at it, but hey, whatever. He _is _super hot. Let this fan get their rocks off imagining there's something going on between them. It's all cool.__

He puts the flowers absently on the kitchen bench, and goes to wash off the smell of six hours in a locked room with Stark's middle-school-level flirting with totally-oblivious Cap, Thor's perpetual refusal to speak quietly, Bruce's damn scented candles and Phil Coulson's quiet competence and sudden lack of respect for Clint's personal space.

The doorbell goes as he's rinsing his hair, so Clint's not exactly perky as he stomps to the door, towel haphazardly slung around his waist.

'Hello, Barton,' Phil says, eyes drifting down before snapping back to his face. 'You mind some company?'

He lifts a six-pack of something called 'Pearler's Pale Ale', which he hands to Clint. Clint squints at the label.

'Did you bring me an Australian micro brew?' he asks, mildly incredulous. He'd had his eyes opened to the things it was possible to do to beer in various postings with SHIELD, but the Circus's tour of Australia had been his first introduction to beer that had personality. He'd had a soft spot for Australian brews since then, but would have sworn no one else knew.

Then again: working for super spies.

Phil shrugs, and Clint steps aside to let him in. With one more curious glance at Phil's poker face, he stashes the beer in the fridge, and heads back to the bathroom.

'Help yourself if you want, I'm just going to finish up,' he calls over his shoulder.

Phil makes an assenting noise, and Clint retreats back into the shower to indulge in a mild panic attack.

Phil's not his handler any more, if anything, he's a team-mate. So this full-body pull towards him is no longer _strictly speaking _in contravention of any regs, at least none that Clint's terribly worried about. If Phil's just here to do a buddy-buddy wind-down-after-a-long-day thing, Clint thinks he might have to turn in his SHIELD ID and go off to start a poffertje stall in Brunei. Partly out of gross disappointment in his reading people and situations skills, but mostly out of disappointed expectations.__

He shuts the water off, and pulls on a well-worn pair of sweats before heading back into the living room. Phil's sitting on the couch, halfway through one of his probably hideously expensive beers.

Taking a moment to admire the tableau (and revelling in a thrill of domesticity that takes him by surprise), Clint swings by the fridge to get his own beer, then grabs a handful of take-out menus and drops to the couch beside Phil.

Popping the cap off on the edge of the table, Clint drops the menus in front of Phil. 'Whaddaya feel like?'

Phil puts his beer down, sorting carefully through the menus, and then Clint misses about five minutes of reality.

'Oh sweet zombie Jesus,' he says, staring wonderingly at the bottle. 'I'm moving to Australia and opening a Tikka Bar.'

Phil laughs, and slaps a menu against Clint's chest. 'Resignation not accepted. But I'll tell you where to get the beer, if you like it that much.'

Clint grins, slinging his feet up on the table and flicking the TV on, flicking channels until he finds a college b-ball game. 'OK, Agent Coulson. Order us some dinner.'

**

The doorbell goes again about an hour later, signalling the arrival of dinner. Clint puts his second beer on the table, and pads over to the door.

'Hey, man,' the kid says, flicking an intensely stupid-looking set of bangs away from his face. 'Twenty-six flat.'

Clint hands over forty bucks, waving away the change, and goes to shut the door.

'Oh, hey,' the kid says again, and Clint is starting to think he must be stoned. 'Why'd you order in if you've got someone feeding you anyway?'

'Huh?' Clint says, because he's nothing if not articulate, and the kid waves a hand at the wall next to Clint's door.

'Looks like food to me.'

Clint leans into the hall to find a neat stack of Tupperware, with a candle and a rose resting on top.

'Thanks, kid,' Clint pats the kid's shoulder, and jerks his head in dismissal. 'Get out of here.'

'Sure, man,' the kid wanders towards the elevator, and Clint stares at the Tupperware.

'Let me make you dinner,' he mutters, feeling a lot less happy about his fan all of a sudden.

****

Phil appears at his shoulder, one hand coming to rest on the small of his back, and in a moment Clint is going to be _all over _that, but.__

'So my fan club might be getting a little creepy enthusiastic,' he gestures with the bag of food, and straight-up feels the unhappy noise Phil makes. He sighs. 'Call it in. We can microwave this later.'

Phil's hand drops from Clint's back, and he makes the call. Clint's never going to stop loving how Phil appears to have a running bet with himself about how few words he can get away with when issuing orders. He chuckles to himself as he puts the cartons on the bench and waits for SHIELD to come flying in in their size twelve combat boots to ruin what might have been a budding date.

****

'Sooo...' Clint leans against the door two hours later, after finally herding the last straggler out of his apartment. 'That was-'

'How long have you been being stalked?' Phil asks; no, wait. That's _Agent Coulson _asking. Clint rolls his eyes.__

'I picked up a fan,' he says, waving a dismissive hand. 'So what? Are you going to do a full background check on every Wild Turkey soaked blonde that Stark runs into now? Because I gotta say, I think he'll object.'

'Stark has his own people who are more than capable of looking out for his safety during his...' Phil pulls a face, visibly abandoning the budding argument as he steps right into Clint's space. 'I know you can look out for yourself, Clint. I'm just getting a little worried with you living off base.'

Fuck it, Clint thinks, and reels Phil in by his still-immaculate-dammit tie. 'You say the sweetest things, honey.'

Phil kisses him, mostly to shut him up if Clint's any judge on these matters. That's OK; a kiss for any reason is still a kiss, and Clint grins. Slides his hands into Phil's hair, tugs his shirt free, shoving at Phil's jacket. Phil lets his jacket be shoved, shrugging it off and letting the expensive material lie in a heap.

'Weren't you hungry a moment ago?' Phil murmurs into Clint's ear, trailing bites down his neck.

'Food can wait,' Clint groans, pushing off the door and dragging Phil to the bedroom by his tie. 'It'll still be there in an hour.'

'True,' Phil says, and lets himself be dragged.

****

Clint can't stop grinning during training the next day, and Stark keeps sending him increasingly-disturbed glances from the sparring ring. Just to be a little shit, Clint adds whistling to his repertoire, and Stark only just avoids having his jaw broken by one of Cap's hooks.

'Tony,' Cap says, all disappointed leader, and Clint has to cram his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing at Stark's wounded but-sir-it's-not- _my _-fault expression. 'You need to be able to do this.'__

'I know that,' Stark says, all the maturity of a thwarted two year old in his tone. 'But Hawkeye's _happy _.'__

Clint straightens, smoothing his expression when Cap turns to him, and raising an eyebrow.

Cap sighs, turning back to Stark. 'Tony, you need to be able to focus, regardless of the distractions around-'

'Hey,' Stark crosses his arms, having a little difficulty with the giant gloves. 'I'm the _king _of focus, I rule over _focus _with an iron robot fist!'____

'God, how I don't miss dealing with that,' Phil says drily, and Clint slings an arm around his shoulders.

'How _did _you manage not to call me in to disappear him?' he says, loudly enough to interrupt Stark's crazy monologuing about his uninterruptable laser-like focus.__

Phil slants a half-smile at Clint. 'Thor turned up before I could get around to tasing him. And I never did catch up on Supernanny.'

Stark splutters, turning red and looking like he has so many objections to make he can't actually figure out which one to start with, then his eyes narrow, gaze suddenly focused on Clint and Phil. A slow smile spreads, taking a turn toward the sleazy and he opens his mouth to say something no-doubt unforgivable, then freezes. Doesn't turn his head, but his eyes slide over to Cap, and wonder of wonders! Stark shuts his mouth.

Clint takes in Stark's sudden poker face, and Cap's oblivious training-scowl, and feels like hitting something.

'Yep,' Phil whispers. 'This will be no fun at all to watch. You want in on the book?'

'Who's keeping it?' Clint stares some more. 'If it's Natasha, then no way in hell. She learnt book keeping from fucking baby mobsters in Russia, and I value my kneecaps too much.'

Phil shakes his head. 'Fury's running it.'

' _WHAT _?!' Clint drops his arm in shock, and the whole damn gym turns to stare. Clint levels his best sniper-stare around the room, and everyone turns back to what they were doing. 'Are you serious?' he hisses.__

Phil nods, a here-and-gone-again grin ghosting across his lips. 'Apparently he's got the pot up to thirty grand. And it's all being run on paper, so Stark can't find out and skew the results.'

That is the best-worst, most hilarifying piece of information Clint expects to find out all week. He spends a long moment picturing Director Fury huddled surreptitiously in an alleyway, psst-ing passers-by to offer them odds on the epic failmance that is going to be team Stark-Rogers, and he whites out a little at the glory of the image.

'Clint,' Phil nudges him after a moment. 'I came down to get you for the results on your little gift.'

Clint blinks to get the ridiculous out of his vision, and Natasha materialises in front of him, arms folded and interrogation-face on.

'What's going on?' she demands, and Clint has a moment of blank terror that she's going to report him and Phil.

'Not that,' she makes a slicing motion with her hand. 'Why is the lab running tests on leftovers labelled 'Barton Apartment'?'

'No reason,' Clint tries. 'Thought I might have accidentally bred a new life form-'

'Not here,' Phil cuts him off, jerking his head for the two of them to follow. 'The results are in.'

'Urgh,' Clint throws his arms up. 'It's no big deal, seriously.'

'Perhaps,' Phil allows. 'But better safe than sorry, Clint.'

Which, he has a point, Clint supposes. 'Fine. Hi-ho, hi-ho, off to the lab we go.'

****

To Clint's complete lack of surprise, the only thing the lab found in the Tupperware is mediocre beef burgundy and a smudgy thumbprint. He debates opening the container and chowing down, just to see the horror on Phil's face, but he's not hungry and French food was never his kryptonite.

'Well, it was fun wasting funding,' he leans against the wall by the door. 'But if you're finished, I'll stick 'em in the dishwasher and leave them back where we found 'em.'

Phil shoots him a judging look, and Clint shrugs. 'What? That shit's expensive!'

The whole lab turns to give him a co-ordinated disappointed look, like he just kicked ten puppies and laughed.

'Oh, _whatever _,' Clint mutters, glaring down at his own shoes. Slightly creepy or not, this loony is the first fan he's ever had so Clint is feeling generous towards them. 'I'm giving them their stupid containers back, and you can't stop me.'__

Phil looks unhappy, but Clint decides that this is a sticking point. It's not like putting clean Tupperware outside his apartment is going to have dire consequences. Maybe he'll even leave a note.

'Hey, d'you think they'd like an autographed photo?' he asks the room. 'That's a thing fans like, isn't it?'

Phil pinches the bridge of his nose and walks away.

****

'Sooo...' Stark drapes himself over the railing next to Clint, pulling down those godawful preppy tinted glasses to give him what Stark undoubtedly thinks is a bro-look. 'I'm hearing rumours...'

'You're hearing _voices _,' Clint mutters, rolling his eyes.__

'Aww, baby,' Stark grins. 'Don't be that way. I hear you have a mystery friend leaving you gifts like a feral cat.'

'Your face is a feral cat,' Clint shoots back with a grin. 'What of it? You have like eleventy billion stalker fans, I've just got the one.'

Stark's face blanks for a moment. 'I also have extremely well-paid security and my own skyscraper. _You _have your admittedly pretty impressive moxie and a twenty dollar deadbolt even Pepper could kick in with one blow.'__

Clint is, against his own inclination, charmed. 'Are you _worried _about me, Stark? Well, if that isn't the sweetest thing-'__

Stark grins, dragging his gaze slowly up and down Clint's body. Reflexively, Clint leans back to pose.

'Maybe I'm just keen on keeping the gun show on display,' Stark blows a kiss.

Clint laughs. 'You aren't fooling anyone. Only gun show you care about comes with its own theme song.'

Stark blinks, and huh. Apparently that 'genius' title _is _just slung around like an uncoordinated prom date. 'You didn't seriously think no one had noticed your mooning, did you?'__

Stark pouts, straightening up and saying with great dignity 'I have no idea what you're talking about, Barton,' he pauses for a moment. 'But seriously, be careful. I don't wanna have to break in a new teammate. _Or _speak at another goddamn funeral.'__

'Yeah, yeah,' Clint waves him away. Does the whole worked-with-Natasha-for-years and seriously-guys-I'm-an-incredible-sniper thing not register with these shmucks? Like some obsessed civilian even _could _touch him.__

And anyway, all they're doing is watching and leaving presents. What could possibly go wrong?


	2. A Long Time Ago...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some grossness near the end of this chapter; nothing worse than what you'd see on 'Bones' or similar, but it's a little ooky. Anyone sensitive to vaguely-described dead animals might want to skip.

Clint takes the weekend, ambushing Phil in a camera-blind corner of the Helicarrier to do a little light (to medium-heavy) groping and to tuck his spare key into Phil's tighty-whiteys before crawling back into the vent and making his way back to the hangar. Stark and Cap are facing away from him, Stark's ADHD even more evident than usual. Clint pads up behind them.

'Gimme a lift, Stark?' he says, overly-loud to save Stark from what is looking like cartoon-level crashing and burning.

'Mother _FUCKER _!' Stark whirls, grabbing at his chest and attempting to cuff Clint on the side of the head. 'See if I do that redesign for you _ever _, you god damned ninja freak.'____

Clint laughs, mostly at Cap's constipated disapproving expression. 'Hey, at least I didn't stab you in the neck.'

Stark's hand flies to his neck. 'Fucking SHIELD, I swear to God...'

Clint cocks his head. 'Lift? Don't wanna sign out a chopper and a pilot just to get to Queens.'

Stark glares, continuing to mutter under his breath for a while. Clint turns to Cap, grinning at the man's frown.

'Fucking _fine _,' Stark pouts. 'Got your shit? I'm not turning around at fucking Staten Island because you left your blankie-'__

'Language, Tony,' Cap says reprovingly. And Jesus, you'd think he was some 19th century school marm, not one of the Howling Commandos.

Tony slumps, so far as it's possible to in however many hundred pounds of articulated metal plating, and shoots Clint an embarrassed glare. 'Fine. You ready now, Barton?'

Clint throws his arms wide, and Stark blasts forward, tackling him and slamming the face plate down in one smooth motion. Clint flips a casual salute over Stark's shoulder at Cap's frown as they drop into New York's airspace.

****

'Jesus H Tapdancing, Slum-dwelling Christ,' Stark's armoured arms tighten against Clint's ribs, apparently considering kidnapping Clint and dragging him back to his ridiculous mansion, which: no. 'You _LIVE _here?!'__

Clint wants to cross his arms, but he's kind of confined, so he makes do with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed look. 'Let go of the merchandise, Stark. Unless you wanna make a play, which since I am not wearing the flag or a lantern-jawed scowl I'm thinking not.'

Stark releases him, helmet opening to let him pull an unhappy face. 'This place can't be secure.'

'Urgh,' Clint groans, leaning forward to thump his head against the chest plate. 'Why can't you idiots get the whole self-sufficient super assassin thing through your heads? I am _fine _in my shitty cheap hovel, OK?'__

Stark makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Clint pulls back to roll his eyes. 'Seriously, man. Go back to your exploding fail at flirting,' he grins at the pole-axed bitchface Stark makes. 'Go on. You can tell my dismembered corpse 'I told you so' if I'm wrong.'

Stark's face blanks at that, and Clint makes a mental note to get Phil to sign Stark up for _all _the therapy. He can recognise PTSD when it slaps someone in the face right in front of him.__

'Go on,' he steps towards the building's door. 'Fuck off. I'll be fine.'

Stark's face does a sort of shrug, still unhappy, but he doesn't move to grab Clint again. 'Call if you need anything.'

'Sure,' Clint waves a hand at him, and hits the stairs.

****

He leaves a friendly note on top of the clean pile of Tupperware, along with a fletching from one of his arrows. He considers finding an access point for the building's ventilation system and staking out his own front door, but honestly? With Phil probably (hopefully) coming over later, he can't be bothered. So he just arranges the pile as neatly as he can, and jumps in the shower.

****

Phil's on the couch when he gets out, watching something Clint is half-certain is 'At The End of My Leash', before flicking the TV off when Clint drapes his dripping form over Phil.

'You have a problem,' Clint breathes into Phil's ear. 'We're going to wind up staging a stupid TV show intervention.'

Phil twists, lying down and pulling Clint on top of himself. 'No you won't,' he pulls Clint down into a kiss. 'Unless you want me to weld all the access point to the Helicarrier's vents shut.'

'Touche,' Clint hums into Phil's lips, grinning before rolling to his feet. 'Feel like pizza tonight? Hey, was the Tupperware gone when you got here?'

Phil frowns at him, propping himself up on his elbows. 'You really left it out there?'

'Yeah,' Clint hitches his towel a little higher. 'Come on, not this again.'

Phil looks unhappy, but lets the subject drop. 'I want anchovies on my half.'

Clint pulls a face, but phones Mario's without complaining.

****

The pizza guy turns up with a box of chocolates balanced on top of the pizza and a confused expression.

'Hey man,' he says, sending a frown towards the elevator. 'Your, uh, girlfriend? She asked me to give you these since I guess she forgot? And didn't want to come back up? Not asking, OK. Just, gimme ten and I'm outie.'

Clint sticks his head into the hall, but there's no one out there. 'Just a minute, man. What'd she look like?'

The guy give Clint the fish eye, shrugging. 'Kinda short, brown hair, a little chubby but wears it well? Look, I got other pies to deliver-'

Clint feels Phil loom over his shoulder; a neat trick for someone actually two inches shorter than him. 'Her exact words.'

The delivery guy gets a mulish look that vanishes when Phil flashes his badge. 'I'll have an agent deal with it. Now you're going to tell me _everything _.'__

The delivery guy tips his head back. 'Aww, _man _. I was gonna get high tonight.'__

Clint chokes on his laughter, and goes to get a shirt.

****

'I've put in a request for an APB with the NYPD,' Phil says a few hours later, and Clint is _seriously _considering running away to Nicaragua if his apartment is invaded by SHIELD just _one _more time. They don't even bring beer when they crash his parties.____

'Yeah, I feel so much safer at the prospect of a short chubby chick being taken off the streets,' he says, opening the pizza box to stare at its room-temperature contents. Not even slightly tempting now. 'Come on, Phil. She's hardly a threat; all she wants is to pretend I'm her boyfriend. She's not even gonna show me her face and you're worried she's gonna shank me? Get real.'

Phil looks pinched and unhappy. 'People can be surprising.'

And, yeah. Looking at Phil, no one would think he's fully capable of flattening an entire patrol with a packet of Twinkies and a ballpoint pen. But Phil's a twenty-year seasoned SHIELD agent, and this chick is just a civilian.

Clint slings an arm around Phil's neck, pulling him in for a kiss. 'If it makes you happy, I suppose I can live with you going all Miami Vice over this.'

'Please,' Phil grins. 'I'm at least Magnum PI. And thank you.'

'No problem,' Clint kisses him again, then sinks to his knees. 'Now, let's make up for lost time.'

'If you insist,' Phil manages, before he has to stuff his fist in his mouth to stay quiet.

****

Clint doesn't let Phil out of the apartment the whole weekend (he wouldn't have let him out of the bedroom, but the other rooms had to be Christened, come on!), only going to the door himself to accept deliveries of fantastic Thai and mediocre pizza when necessary.

His fan is conspicuous by her absence the whole time; not even a single flower making its way to Clint's door. And from the unhappy glare Phil gives his phone each of the twelve times Clint lets him check it, no luck on the over reacting law enforcement side either.

That's cool; she obviously decided to back off like a _not crazy person _, which she clearly is, so Clint feels one hundred per cent justified in his smug grin.__

'Are you jealous?' he mutters into the back of Phil's neck as he's got him spread-eagled across his bed on Sunday afternoon. 'I could start an Agent Sexy fan club, be the president,' he grins at the small noise Phil makes. 'Send you adoring emails to distract you when you're in meetings.'

Phil shudders, and Clint abandons teasing for more interesting pastimes.

****

'See you tomorrow?' Clint leans against his doorway, shirt off and satisfied smirk on. 'Fury found something to aim us at yet?'

Phil gives him a small grin, ducking in for a brief peck. 'I'll see what I can dig up. Wouldn't want you getting bored and initiating your surprise training again. The psych department's never been so busy.'

Clint laughs, blows a kiss at Phil, and goes back inside to do all the sleep he'd missed what with the marathon sexcapade he's just finished.

****

At seven the next morning, he watches Cap and Stark from his nest in the rafters of Fury's latest disposable empty building when they come in, Cap trying to argue with Stark and Stark resolutely ignoring him. Clint considers it yet another public service to drop onto the table with a bang, startling the two of them into here-and-gone-again battle stances. 'Have a good weekend?'

Cap glares, hand plastered across Stark's chest in an attempt to shove him away from the threat, now curling protectively over the hard curve of the arc reactor. He mustn't realise he's doing it, if the startled look he shoots Stark when he bats the hand away is any indication.

'Barton,' Stark steps around Cap, striding over to shake a finger at Clint. 'Next time you do something like that, I'm remote-triggering your restraint arrows to glue you in place. Don't think I can't.'

Clint gives him a bright smile and back flips off the table. 'You love me really.'

Stark makes a huffy noise, and throws himself into the chair opposite the projection screen. 'I see two and a half days of getting your freak on didn't wear you out.'

Clint has to blink, and Stark laughs at him. 'You think I can't see 'dirty weekend' floating around your head? I _live _in Dirty Weekend Land, I know all the signs.'__

Cap, at least, is avoiding Clint's gaze, staring up at the ceiling and (what is he-? Is he counting under his breath?) mouth moving just a little.

Stark's eyes go half-lidded and wicked, and Clint realises he's taken too long to respond. Well, shit. He hopes Phil wasn't too invested in keeping the secret; Stark's worse than ten soccer moms when he's on a roll. He braces for an epic amount of bullshit, and Stark's eyes flicker. He licks his lips, and _smiles _at Clint.__

'Good on you, Hawkeye,' Stark says, and he kicks his feet up on the table. 'Where's that rat bastard? I'm a busy man, can't be dropping everything to go to meeting Fury doesn't even bother being on time for.'

'You turn up when I tell you to turn up, Stark,' Fury barks from the shadowed corner Clint would've sworn was empty five seconds ago. Gotta take his hat off to the Boss. 'Or you're out.'

'Bit of a one-hit wonder for threats, aren't you?' Stark grins. 'Where's everyone else?'

As though they were waiting for the cue, Natasha, Bruce, Thor and Maria Hill stride in, and Clint can't stop himself from frowning. Why isn't Phil here?

As Fury gets into the swing of the briefing, Clint can't keep himself on-topic. Phil _ought _to be here, and much as he doesn't want to be he's worried.__

He zones in and out for about an hour, trusting that Natasha will catch him up if there's anything he needs to know, and ducks out the minute Fury turns around to grab a coffee from Hill.

Outside, leaning against one of the awful black sedans SHIELD buys in bulk he finds Phil. Looking solemn as always, and just a little angry.

'So,' Clint slows his step, shoving his hands into his pockets and adding a little swagger. 'Skipping class and you didn't invite me along? I'm hurt; we could've been necking in the supply closet for the last hour.'

'Someone slashed my tyres this morning,' Phil says, an unhappy frown working its way around the edges of his professional poker face.

Clint stops about an arms length away and pulls a sympathetic face. 'Kids are such little shits these days.'

Phil gives him a look which reminds Clint how Phil knows _all _the awful terrible no-good illegal things Clint did before his... unique recruitment to SHIELD, then he slips back to unhappy pensive.__

'What?' Clint rocks back, balancing on his heels. 'You don't think-'

'I do,' Phil cuts him off. 'And I think this tips it over the edge into a problem.'

'That's ridiculous,' Clint shakes his head. There's no way. 'She doesn't know where you live. She couldn't know who you are-'

'Clearly she's more adept at surveillance than we'd assumed,' Phil pushes off the car, closing the distance and bringing his hands up to rest on Clint's shoulders. 'There aren't any delinquent kids in my street who haven't already been spoken to about the consequences of bringing my attention on them.'

Boy howdy, Clint would have paid good money to see any of those conversations. He grins, but it fades when Phil's hands migrate to his chest, pushing him firmly back.

'It's time to consider telling Fury,' Phil says, unhappy line between his eyebrows deepening. 'I know you can look after yourself, but you don't have to, and this is a different type of situation.'

Clint blows out a long breath, eyes darting in an automatic check across the rooftops of the nearby warehouses and finding nothing. 'Look,' he turns his full attention back to Phil. 'Leave it for a few days. Let me try and deal with it, and maybe try off-street parking for a while? I can handle this.'

'I'm not-' Phil breaks off when the Amazing Travelling Stark Circus spills out through the door behind Clint, Stark snapping quips in what sounds like top form and Cap slowly coming to the boil.

Clint takes a hasty step back and turns to face them. Stark's mouth closes when he sees Phil, twisting thoughtfully to one side, then the other. Clint folds his arms and raises his eyebrows.

'What're you two having a domestic about _this _time?' he rolls his eyes. Clint hasn't _ever _seen a more married couple than these two clowns.____

Stark ignores him, striding over to frown at Phil. He stops far enough away to avoid a lunge with a taser (Clint had laughed until he'd cramped up when Phil had explained _that _little neurosis of Stark's), and just stares.__

'He's a reckless fool, sure,' Stark says after a long enough silence to shade into uncomfortable. 'But is it _really _bad this time?'__

Phil's expression doesn't change, and he turns back to Clint. 'You have until Friday to sort it out on your own terms, Barton,' and Clint _certainly _doesn't do a victory dance, nosiree. 'After that I'm dealing with it my way.'__

'Sir, yes sir!' Clint snaps off a salute. He knew Phil would see reason.

****

'You've got to report this,' Natasha says from three inches behind him when Clint's easing his way into the vent access that afternoon.

Clint, through a massive exertion of muscle control only possible because of years of practise, doesn't flinch and slam his head into the grill. But it's a pretty near thing.

'Hi, Natasha,' he says after something resembling but _totally _not lamaze breathing. 'Not that it isn't always a pleasure, but what did you want?'__

Natasha rests a deceptively gentle hand on his shoulder. 'Coulson's right to be worried, and you're abusing your new relationship to get him to listen to you.'

'What?!' Clint jerks around to glare at her. 'I'm not abusing shit, Natasha.'

She raises one perfectly-sculpted eyebrow at him. 'He would've filed the report the second he found out some civilian knew where an agent lived if you hadn't asked him not to. If this was anyone else, would you be so complacent about the threat posed by a stalker?'

'Look,' Clint rolls backwards out of the vent and stands up, crossing his arms. 'It's not a big deal. So I got a fan who's a little keen, so what? She gives me flowers and makes dinner. Oooh, what a threat!'

Natasha's expressionless expression shifts further into disapproving territory. 'She knows where you live. She doesn't like you having Coulson over. She told the pizza guy she was your _girlfriend _. Tell me you think this is non-threatening behaviour.'__

Clint rolls his eyes at her, checking the surrounding corridor for witnesses. 'She hasn't initiated _actual _contact,' he shakes a probably-unwise finger at her. 'She isn't doing anything except deluding herself that we've got something. This chick is _not _any real threat. And that's _exactly _what I'd say if the same thing happened to you, or Hill, or Rogers!'______

He doesn't wait for her response, just dives into the vent and hustles away. What does Natasha know, anyway?

****

When he gets home that evening, the flowers look a little... worn. Like they've been sitting out for longer than the ten hours Clint has been gone.

It's probably something to do with the building's air, he reasons. There's no card this time, which is odd, but hardly any sort of huge sign like Natasha and Phil have been carrying on about. Wilted flowers and a lack of love note _does not _equal psychotic threat to life and limb. QE-goddamn-D, he thinks, kicking the door closed and drops the bouquet on the bench.__

There's no reasonable argument for worry.

He's sure of it.

****

Tuesday morning, Clint gets as far as his bike before he notices the odd smell. It's an unpleasant mix of decaying food and the sharp copper tint of blood, both of which he's intimately familiar with for disparate reasons.

It's strong enough that he takes his helmet off, sniffs around and winds up back inside his building alongside a growing group of cranky pensioners shouting at the Super about the stench.

It's much stronger in the elevator, which explains why Clint didn't notice it until he was in the basement garage, since he hasn't used the elevator in this building at all except when Phil had glared at him when he'd tried to head for the stairs while still _technically _in the SHIELD medical bay for some boring bullet wound or something.__

Clint watches as the Super pokes at the ceiling of the elevator car, and grabs the man to yank him back just as the whole thing collapses in a disgusting messy puddle.

'Is that...' the Super shakes Clint off to scoot closer. 'Is that a _person _?'__

The cranky pensioners erupt in a two hundred decibel expression of outrage, and the Super has to turn to try and reclaim order. Clint stares at the pile of rotten carcass on the elevator car's floor and notes the shape of the bones. Not human; it looks like...

'It's a pig,' he announces, then again when none of the screechers stop yelling. 'IT'S A PIG!'

'Well, pig or person,' Mr Stebbins from number 4C says, elbowing his way to the front of the crowd. 'What's it doing in our elevator, hmm?'

Clint and the Super share a glance, and Clint digs his phone out. Maybe it _is _actually time to get SHIELD properly involved. The Super, under the impression that Clint is a cop for reasons Clint is never ever elaborating on to Phil, starts herding the looky-loos away as Clint makes the call.__

'You'd better not be trying that Explosive Syphilis excuse on me,' Phil says. 'I didn't believe it before, but I might be tempted to loan you to the lab for a week if you claim to have been sleeping around on me.'

'So,' Clint draws the word out like a balloon losing air. 'About that little not-an-issue problem.'

He can almost _hear _Phil straighten on the other end. 'Status report.'__

'There may or may not be a dismembered pig in my building's elevator shaft,' Clint mutters, screwing his nose up as some more viscera drops from the hole in the ceiling.

Phil is silent for a long moment. 'Definitely not human?'

Clint toes at the closest bit that isn't actually sopping. 'Nah. I suppose it could be a goat or a very small cow, but my guess is pig.'

'Any note?' Phil sounds like he's on the move, probably snapping his fingers at agents and issuing orders through the power of his mind. 'Is this the same person, or are we looking at another target?'

Clint glances at the hole, but it's still dripping blood and guts. Not that way, then. 'Not enough data yet,' he turns and heads for the stairwell.

'Barton,' Phil says, tone serious. 'Stay put. I don't want to have to be chasing you down.'

'Me?' Clint grins as he eases the stairwell door open silently. 'Not going anywhere, sir.'

He thumbs the phone off and jogs up one flight. The residents are all still yelling at the Super, so no one's there to see him pry the elevator shaft open and slip through. The smell in infinitely worse in here, but it's not actually any worse than Clint's had to deal with before. There's a smear along the wall of the shaft, and he can see more pig piled on top of the car a floor below.

'Gross,' he says under his breath, and swings himself down for a closer look.

****

Phil has his blankest, most men-in-black creepy look on when Clint drops out of the elevator shaft, mildly spattered with pig's blood and grinning unrepentantly.

'I've already called Fury,' he says, stepping back to avoid splatter. 'And I'm not arguing about it.'

'Yeah,' Clint pulls a face at the mess, and steps out of the elevator, pulling Phil along. 'Kinda with you on this one.'

Phil looks a little startled at that, but he doesn't have a chance to say anything before Fury bursts in, barking orders at Hill and a gaggle of junior agents trailing in his wake.

'Barton!' Fury snaps, and Clint comes to attention by reflex. 'You want to explain why I'm only hearing about this now?'

'Didn't seem serious until now, sir.'

He can feel Phil's stare burning into the side of his face, and he has to exert all his self-control not to turn.

Fury's eyebrows beetle together. 'A crazy civilian knows your address and manages to avoid SHIELD _and _the NYPD, and you didn't think it was serious?'__

There's really nothing to say to that. 'Sir.'

Fury glares at him for a long time before turning with a swirl of his coat and a snort. 'What've we got, Coulson?'

Phil shows Fury the mess, giving him a quiet summary of the stalker's actions so far. Clint relaxes, turning to face Hill. She gives him a stare every bit as unsettling as Fury's and crosses her arms.

'You're an idiot.'

'Yeah,' Clint scrubs a hand over his face. 'The dismembered pig in my building's elevator keyed me in to that. Thanks, though.'

'You're coming back to live on the Helicarrier,' she turns to one of the baby agents. 'Clear Agent Barton's-'

'Oh, _hell _no,' Clint is absolutely _not _moving in on the flying death trap where Fury has keys and cameras everywhere. No way.____

Hill swivels in place, levelling that _stare _at him again. 'What was that, Agent Barton?'__

'Look,' Clint steps closer to her, lowering his voice. 'I'll check into a hotel, or something. I'm not going into lockdown, though, Hill. You can't make me.'

'I could arrest you,' Hill purses her lips. 'In fact, I'm tempted to. Why shouldn't I?'

Wow, he really didn't think that through, did he? Clint stares at Phil and Fury, and when he looks at Hill's expectant face, what comes out is 'I'll be the bait.'

Hill folds her arms and Clint can see Phil's head come up, expression horrified.

'I'll be the bait,' he repeats, lifting his chin. 'If you take me up to the brig, who knows where this wacko's going to go? She might get involved in a battle, or fixate on some poor civilian without the skills to defend themselves. If we set up a sting, we can contain her and it's all done.'

Phil looks like he's only just restraining himself from shouting, and Fury doesn't even bother.

'Barton!' he storms closer. 'You damn fool, do you _want _to die?'__

'No sir,' Clint risks a small smile. 'But surely it's better to catch her sooner?'

He loves it when he manages to make Fury grind his teeth, and surprisingly Hill is on his side.

'It might be the only chance we have, sir,' she says. Clint almost does a little fist pump until he sees Phil's face.

Fury splits his glare between Clint, Hill, and the baby agents, then sighs. 'Fine. We'll put a team in the building opposite, and your apartment's getting wired inside and out.'

Phil stiffens, and walks outside, not looking at Clint. Clint stares after him, stomach sinking. He'd better go talk to him as soon as Fury lets him go.

****

When Fury turns his back for more than ten seconds, Clint dashes outside, looking left and right. He can't see Phil anywhere, though.

'Hey!' he grabs the driver from Fury's giant black car. 'Where'd Coulson go?'

The driver frowns at him, pointing at Clint's apartment building. 'He went in there, sir.'

Clint stares at the man, then turns and looks at his building. 'He didn't come out about five minutes ago?'

'No sir.'

Clint doesn't like the sound of that, but it's not inconceivable that Phil nicked out while the driver was distracted. He goes back inside, heads past the crime scene team and back to his apartment.

His step slows as he approaches his door; there's a bundle of sticks wrapped in ribbon leaning against his door. When he gets closer, he can tell that they're dead, headless flowers. There's an envelope beneath them.

He knows he should call the agents downstairs, but he stoops to pick it up, slides the card out.

'You made me do this,' he reads. 'I have to get rid of him so we can be together. I love you.'

The card drops from his suddenly-numb fingers. He feels like throwing up, or hitting something. What he does is run back downstairs to report to Fury.

He doesn't know how she managed to do it, but she's got Phil.


	3. Be the Trouble You Want to See in the World

Clint catches Fury just outside the building, glaring up at the sky like there's something up there which personally offended him... oh, that's Iron Man coming in to land. Figures.

Stark flicks the face shield up, striding towards Fury. Clint seizes his CO's elbow, swinging him around by main force.

'Barton!' Fury snaps. 'What in the hell-'

'She's got Phil,' Clint hisses, stepping well inside Fury's bubble. 'I don't know how, but she's got him and I think she means to kill him.'

Fury's expression goes from pissy to thermonuclear in two point five seconds. 'Hill!' he bellows. 'Scramble all agents! _Stark _!'__

'Already scanning,' Stark takes off, hovering at third floor height and presumably doing his thing. 'There's some odd residual energy, but it seems to be through the whole building. I've got JARVIS running it.'

Clint's itchy and short of breath, but there's nothing for him to do until there's a target, so he takes off at a jog to check the perimeter. He takes the corner a little too fast, shoulder glancing off the brick and swerving almost into the next building. There's no one, not even one of the baby agents in the alley and that's wrong enough to make him slow to a stop, back up to a wall and start checking for the enemy.

'Agent Barton?' one of the baby agents from Hill's posse steps out from behind a dumpster, wide-eyed and eager to please. 'Sir?'

Clint relaxes; should've known Hill would drill them on visibility. He jogs toward the kid. 'You see Agent Coulson come this way earlier?'

'Yes sir,' the kid says, running a nervous hand over his crew cut. 'Sir, I-'

'Tell me what happened!' Clint growls, stepping close enough to grab the kid's arm and shake. He knows he should be trying harder to stay professional, but he can't make himself care about this kid's feelings when Phil's _life _is in danger.__

The nervousness drains out of the kid's expression, leaving an odd blank stare. His head swivels to face Clint, and his other hand slaps something sharp against Clint's throat. 'I'll show you, lover.'

Clint staggers, whatever drug was in the spike draining his co-ordination like Stark drinking fine liquor, and he crashes to his knees, fingers scrabbling at the injection point uselessly.

'Don't worry, darling,' the kid says, and Clint's vision is going wonky now. He thinks he sees the face twist and melt into something else, but he's unconscious before he hits the ground.

****

He wakes, drug-muzzy, hungover and tied to a chair in a concrete room. As soon as his vision clears, he has to twist to one side to empty his stomach. Man, toxins exiting the system are so much _fun _.__

He coughs, spits and groans, dropping his chin to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut. 'Not how I'd pictured my day going.'

'Yes, well I could've told you this was coming,' Phil says, and Clint's head whirls when he jerks up to look for him. 'Easy, Clint. Give it half an hour before you try any gymnastics, huh?'

Phil's six feet away, tied exactly the same way Clint is and wearing his unflappable Agent Face. If he hadn't just puked in front of the man, Clint would kiss him.

'We got a plan, boss?' Clint manages after hacking another cough out. Urgh, getting drugged _sucks _, seriously.__

Phil frowns at him, then looks around the room for what has to be the hundredth time since he got here, and sighs. 'Nothing viable.'

'This is definitely Her, right?' Clint feels his shoulders droop as far as is possible with his wrists bound to the arms of the chair. 'I really should've listened to you.'

'You really should have,' Phil nods. 'And I'm not so sure she's actually a she. She certainly isn't vanilla human, anyway. Which explains a lot.'

Clint thinks back to the kid in the alley. 'Mutant?'

'Maybe,' Phil gives a sort of facial shrug. 'Could be tech, or other metahuman. Alien, even; though that seems outside the likeliest scenarios.'

'I'm so special even my stalkers are superhuman?' Clint tries. Phil glares at him, but it's the affectionate one. Clint grins, feeling more positive already. 'OK. Let's blow this popsicle stand!'

'Oh, no,' when Clint turns, there's a figure in the doorway, shadowed and indistinct. 'Clint, baby; you're staying with me.'

The figure moves closer, resolving into an average-height, slightly chunky... well, could be a guy _or _a gal, Clint can't tell. Whichever it is, it has an odd greenish tinge to its skin, which looks a little like scales when it gets into the light. It grins at Clint, teeth pointed and white, and it trails a hand across Phil's chest as it walks past him.__

It steps up to Clint with a bright smile. 'Oh, Honey we're going to be so very happy together,' Clint's going to come down on the female side, he decides. Yeah, it's a she.

'Yeah?' he leans as far back as he can. 'I was pretty happy with Phil; just saying.'

Phil glares at him, lips pressed tight together. Clint makes an apologetic face. The more she's focused on him, the less she's focused on Phil, after all.

She glances back at Phil, then turns a pout on Clint. 'Baby, he's no good for you. I'm the one who loves you.'

'Uh-huh,' Clint bites the inside of his cheek hard as she trails a hand down his neck. And he'd thought the stalker thing and the pig had maxed out the creepy for this year. He can't help shuddering at the roughcoolhard of her palm, nails like talons scraping gently over his adam's apple. 'You realise I don't know you, right? The whole 'we've never met' thing's gotten through to you?'

She trills a laugh, throwing her head back before swinging a leg over his lap and settling in. 'You can call me Maggie.'

'Maggie,' Clint fails to dodge a dishearteningly-chilly kiss; seriously, is the chick a reptile or something? 'I don't suppose you'd be open to the idea of untying us?'

Maggie trails a clawed finger down Clint's cheek, resting her freezing hand over his jugular and tipping his head back. She leans in, sets her teeth against his skin and just holds there. Clint can feel something preparing to be panic welling behind his sternum, and has to focus on his breathing.

He's gone through every type of SHIELD torture training, sometimes twice; he's had as much real world experience on the receiving end as Natasha has, but this is different. This feels... almost animal. Maggie doesn't want information; she doesn't want to cause pain, at least he hopes she doesn't. She just wants to be in charge, as far as he can tell.

He can feel his eyes rolling back, they feel uncomfortably wide but he can't help it. Her teeth close just a fraction, and his pulse skyrockets, he jerks in the chair trying to buck her off to no avail.

Clint sobs a desperate breath, and the teeth loosen, lips closing in a sloppy kiss over what he's hoping is only a bruise.

Maggie wriggles in his lap, making pleased little chirping sounds in the back of her throat, and Clint swallows hard before looking at her. Her gaze is empty, yellow-brown eyes unblinking. She cocks her head, and she _shimmers _, green rippling into healthy pink, legs lengthening against his own, face smoothing into Phil's.__

'So,' Clint rasps, feeling shamed that his voice won't hold up. 'I'd thought Mystique was the only shape shifter around. You don't look like her mugshots.'

Maggie giggles, and it's such a wrong sound coming out of Phil's face that Clint twitches.

'Wanna tell me why you left a pig in the elevator shaft this morning?' he snaps, half out of genuine desire to know, half just to shut that creepy sound off. 'I mean, flowers, chocolates, Tupperware full of French food I get, but it seems a leap to get to dismembered farm animals.'

Maggie's features shift to Mrs Denehy's from 6A, and a wrinkled hand pats at his cheek. 'I had to be sure your boys were busy enough that no one would notice the two of you... wandering off. And I just happened to find a pig.'

And if Clint had any lingering suspicions about her sanity, _that _settled the matter. 'Right. Wow, OK. Could you shift to something else, because I got a phobia of little old drunk ladies. I break out in the cold sweats, start gibbering... it ain't pretty.'__

She pouts at him, and slips back to the creepy reptilian face. Yay, Clint thinks. He glances past her at Phil, eyes widening as he sees that Phil's got one hand free somehow.

Clint turns his attention to Maggie. If he can just keep her focused on him, Phil might be able to get free and get them out.

Maggie leans in close, ducking her face under his chin and licking at his throat. Clint jerks, and her talons dig into his shoulder, one hand coming up to wrench his head to the side to give her room.

'Ow, fuck!' Clint can feel the warm trickle of blood from where her talons have dug in. 'Vampire lizard shape shifter is _not _on my '21 things I want in a lover' list, lady!'__

Maggie growls and sinks her teeth in next to her talons and worries at it. Clint can't help the scream, and she pulls back grinning through Clint's blood and swallowing an actual _piece _of Clint. 'Don't be a naughty puppy.'__

The pain is astonishing, and Clint spares a moment to wonder whether or not Maggie might have venom. It would be just his luck if she does. His shoulder, when he looks, is a mess. There's exposed muscle, and he thinks he can see bone. It's hard to tell through the blood, though.

'Now, darling,' Maggie leans back, eyes hooded. 'I'm going to rip that bastard's throat out so nothing stands between us.'

'Yeah,' Clint chokes out. ' _That's _how it's going to work out, you fucking psycho!'__

Maggie snarls, and Phil appears behind her, swinging the chair he'd been tied to into her head with great force. Clint feels a hysterical laugh rising as she drops to the ground with a cry. If it were him, he'd smack the bitch a few more times, but Phil just drops the chair and kneels to work on Clint's bindings.

'Stark's gonna be pissed he didn't get to play hero,' Clint says, but his voice is slurring. Damn blood loss and shock; he hates when his body betrays him like that.

'What can I say?' Phil gets the last knot undone and shoves his jacket against Clint's shoulder, wrapping it in place with one of the ropes. 'I'm a self-rescuing princess.'

The laugh that prompts sounds distressingly wet to Clint's ears, and he whites out for a few minutes. When he comes to, he's lying down with Phil staring at him with a pinched look. Clint tries to smile reassuringly, but that just makes Phil look worse. Possibly the taste of blood in his mouth had something to do with that, but it was getting really difficult to stay concious.

'Hey, Phil,' he manages, smiling wryly. 'Shoulda listened to you.'

Clint thinks he sees the flamboyant Iron Man armour over Phil's shoulder, but that could just be an hallucination. He can see Phil's lips moving, but he's slipping into unconsciousness and can't tell what Phil's saying.

He hopes it wasn't important.

****

It's a surprise when he wakes up; less of one that he does so in SHIELD medical with Phil slumped in a chair by his bed.

Clint manages to struggle upright, even with his left arm immobilised, and swings his legs off the bed. His feet hitting the floor doesn't summon po-faced nursing staff, so Clint feels confident he's out of the woods. He shuffles over to Phil and shakes him gently.

Phil's eyes snap open, hands coming up to frame Clint's face. He gives Clint the most searching look he's been on the receiving end of in a long time, then sighs.

'You're OK.'

'Hmm,' Clint eases forward for a kiss, wincing when the bandaging pulls. 'Always am.'

They stay there for a moment, Clint leaning on Phil a little harder than he usually would and Phil's hands making a gentle examination of Clint's body.

'Break me out of here?' Clint suggests, running his free hand through Phil's hair.

'To go where?' Phil snaps. 'You're not going back to that-'

Clint shrugs. He doesn't want to go back there. 'How'd we get out?'

'That's my cue,' Stark announces from the doorway, hands shoved into pockets and shoulder braced on the wall. 'I traced you down and burst in just in time.'

There's something funny about that, but Clint's starting to feel tired again. Phil hustles him back to the bed and sets him gently back against the pillows.

'Maggie?' he asks, just enough energy left to double check. He doesn't think Phil's hit was a death blow, and metahuman villains tend to be horribly good at vanishing after being defeated instead of trailing into custody like good little criminals.

Stark and Phil make matching irritated sounds, then glance at each other. Clint chuckles, then raises his eyebrows expectantly.

'In the brig,' Stark shrugs. 'A little the worse for wear. Fury's hunting up some shrink who specialises in criminally psychotic metas. Because that's now a field, apparently.'

'Plenty of material to study,' Clint yawns. 'Thanks, man.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Stark flaps a hand at him. 'Go to sleep; _Pepper _doesn't pack as many bags as you've got under your eyes, and she travels with two cases just for shoes.'__

Obnoxious as his delivery is, Stark has a point. Clint lets himself drift off again.

****

It takes three days and two hissy fits before the harpies in medical agree to let Clint out on his own recognizance. They load him down with five scripts, a sling, and attempt to foist a wheelchair on him.

'It's a hole in my _shoulder _,' he yells, kicking the thing out of his way. 'My legs work fine!'__

The nurse's lips thin dangerously, but she relents in the end and hands him over to Phil with a significant look towards the scripts. Phil nods, and leads Clint away before he can say anything more unforgivable than he's already managed.

****

They wind up in Stark's lab along with the rest of the team, and Phil gets Clint settled in an armchair that seems to have magically appeared. Clint's pretty certain Fury doesn't know it's here. He grins at Natasha and Cap, shakes Banner's hand when he drifts over, and is insanely grateful when Cap and Stark intercept Thor's attempted bear hug. Thor looks mournful, until Clint grins at him too.

Now that he's rested and not hopped up on whatever super-morphine SHIELD insists on using, he's been wondering exactly how they'd been found.

'How'd you track us?' Clint shifts his sling awkwardly; the _second _Phil isn't looking, the damn thing's going straight down a garbage chute. 'I was joking when I told you Phil was fitted with Lo-jack. At least,' he squints at his boyfriend. 'I thought I was.'__

Stark looks shifty. 'I may or may not have been giving the team regular doses of a – totally harmless! - isotope as a fail-safe for tracking in this very type of situation. Except Banner,' he shrugs at Banner, who gives him a world-weary smile in return. 'He's already radioactive. And hey! It worked out great!'

Cap pinches the bridge of his nose. 'Tony-'

'What?!' Stark demands, apparently sulking now. 'It worked.'

Clint has to laugh at that; it's so fucking _Stark _. He wipes his eyes when he catches his breath and sighs.__

'Aw, that almost makes up for all the house hunting I'm going to have to do,' he settles back in the armchair and trying not to think about the godawful process of finding affordable (and secure! His inner Phil shrieks) housing in New York.

'Forget it,' Stark waves a hand, already distracted by something on one of his thirty-seven screens scattered around the room. 'I've set up rooms for all you bitches in the tower.'

From the sudden silence, Clint gets the feeling this is the first _anyone's _heard of this plan.__

'Sudden yearning to be den mother, huh Stark?' he tries, but his voice is faint.

Natasha blinks, and digs out a cell phone from... somewhere and starts furiously tapping at it. Banner shakes his head, and Clint thinks he recalls something about Stark adopting Banner and taking him home after the Chitauri.

Cap puts a hand on Stark's shoulder. 'Tony, that's a really-'

'Brilliant plan,' Phil cuts in, and even Stark looks up from whatever he's doing to stare. Phil folds his arms and sends a quick glare at Clint. 'You people are far too valuable to risk in civilian housing. Having you all in the tower keeps security requirements to a minimum and will reduce your response time immeasurably. It's a good plan.'

'The same could be said for staying in SHIELD facilities,' Cap says, and yeah. Clint's _seen _his tragic excuse for quarters and _no thank you _. There's a time and a place for barracks housing, and that's boot camp.____

Clint's about to jump in to (he can hardly believe it's come to this) support Stark's suggestion, when Hill stomps in.

'Barton!' she snaps, jerking her head. 'You're coming with me.'

Phil takes a half step forward, angling himself between Clint and Hill before he remembers himself and relaxes. Clint rolls his eyes. The whole stupid debrief-about-your-psycho-shapeshifting-kidnapper thing _could _wait, but clearly Hill thinks it'll be easier to contain him when he's injured. More fool her, Clint thinks with a smirk.__

'Yeah, yeah,' he gets out of the chair with an assisting hand from Banner. 'Don't get your panties in a bunch,' he shoots an exaggerated glance at her pants. 'If you even _wear _panties under that.'__

Hill glowers, but just jerks her head towards the door again instead of rising to the bait. Clint shrugs at his team, mouthing 'sorry' to Phil, and heads out trailed by Hill. When they reach the hallway, she grabs his elbow and starts pulling him along.

'I _do _know the way to the interrogation rooms,' he bitches. Her grip is pulling on his stitches, and it's rather uncomfortable. Painful, even. 'Could we maybe drop the pace a little? Remember the whole 'injured by crazy person' thing? Hill?'__

She ignores him, yanking him down another hallway to an elevator. She sort of throws him in, and Clint grunts as he hits the wall. Hill's never been soft, but this level of rough has only happened when she'd found out about Clint freaking the bridge crew out by leaping on them from above. He'd tried to call it 'Special Combat Training', but Fury had nixed it. He's at a loss to come up with anything he's done that would compare.

She stabs at the button and the doors slide closed. Clint straightens painfully, raising a hand to his shoulder to check it. The bandage is damp, and he's pretty sure he's popped some stitches.

'Far be it for me to question Fury's right hand,' he starts angrily. 'But what's your fucking problem, Hill?!'

She turns to stare at him, and Clint slams back into the far wall.

Her eyes are yellow.

God _dammit _.__

'How'd you get out?' he straightens, pushing off the wall and raising his chin. 'You're supposed to be behind a very expensive containment field right now.'

Maggie gives him a sneer with Hill's face. 'I don't think you've been nice enough for me to tell you. When we go home, I think you need to be punished.'

Clint lunges forward, but Maggie moves like a snake, slamming a fist into the back of his neck and twirling out of the way in one smooth motion. Clint goes down like a recruit sparring with Natasha, knocking a tooth loose when he hits the floor. He spits it out and stays there for a necessary moment. Maggie snarls and hauls him up by the back of his neck, talons digging in as she slams him face-first into the doors.

'Bad puppy,' she growls in his ear, licking at the blood trickling down his neck.

'You gonna discipline me with a newspaper?' Clint grits out, unable to move her even an inch. Maggie chuckles, and pulls him back just before the doors slide open to let them onto the deck. She uses her grip on his neck to drag him towards one of the choppers.

Where the hell are any of the ground crew? Clint stumbles, grunting at the pinch of her talons that stops him from hitting the floor. There should be _at least _five men up here; Fury won't be happy when he finds out. _If _he finds out, Clint allows.____

He tries dropping to the deck again, but Maggie's hold tightens and she shakes him with unexpected strength. Clint starts to feel like he might hurl, and he loses a few moments concentrating on keeping his lunch. When he looks up, they're right in front of the chopper.

'Fly us off this crate,' Maggie hisses, wrenching the door open.

'Can't,' Clint gasps. 'I'm not rated for the Venom. Sorry sweetcheeks.'

Maggie growls in his ear. 'Lies. You can fly this.'

'I really can't,' Clint coughs, and there's blood in his mouth. So much for moving in with the team. 'I'm a sniper, not a pilot.'

There's movement on the other side of the chopper, and Phil appears around the nose. Maggie snarls and drags Clint back to the wider space. Closer to the edge, Clint notes. He locks eyes with Phil, trying to tell him to back off, that he's sorry, but his concentration's shot. Too many injuries and too many drug residuals in his system. He leans most of his weight against Maggie, hoping to throw her off but she doesn't even seem to notice.

'Back off, G-man,' she says, moving her hand from Clint's neck to his bicep. 'We're leaving, and there's nothing you can do to stop us.'

Phil steps away from the chopper, moving in a slow arc, with his hands open by his sides. He gets a little closer with every step, and Maggie keeps turning to keep him in her line of sight.

'We can get you help,' Phil offers, his measured tone only making Maggie angrier, talons digging in as she wrenches Clint around to keep him between her and Phil.

Phil, who _doesn't _have his gun, God dammit. Clint shoots him an exasperated glare, noting the way Phil's shifting his weight as he circles away from the chopper. He notes the way Phil's lips tighten as Maggie drags Clint right to the very edge of the deck. He's going to do something reckless, Clint realises distantly. He's going to do something reckless for Clint, and it _won't work _.____

Clint can see how it will go down; everything narrowing to the slow-motion adrenaline high SHIELD spent God knows how much money training him to use efficiently. Phil tenses, ready to throw something and dash forward. Almost any other time Clint would let him, but Maggie's too fast. He can feel her muscles coiling against his back and he _knows _she's seen how Phil's going to move. She's seen, and she'll kill him.__

That's all Clint needs. While Maggie's tensing for Phil's attack, Clint pivots, ignoring the pain as her talons are torn out of his arm and he tackles her over the edge.

She screams, flailing just too late, and together they drop towards the Hudson.

****

He's kind of like Gandalf, Clint decides as he watches the Helicarrier get smaller. Which makes Maggie the Balrog, and yeah. That fits. It's a pretty good way to go; better than a gut shot or some wasting disease. He's never thought he'd last long enough to file for his pension, and at least he got Phil for a little while. He smiles.

Maggie's still clinging to him, screaming incoherently and digging her talons in. Clint kicks at her, aiming for her face and cheering himself when her grip loosens. He turns his head to watch the Helicarrier. It's too far now to see people, but it's the next best thing to looking at Phil.

He's ready to die, but when he sees the flash of red and gold streaking towards him, he whoops triumphantly. That was probably a mistake, as he now finds it difficult to draw breath. He keeps himself limp as the Iron Man swoops in.

'Sweetheart,' Stark says as he catches Clint, falling into a long arc to dispel momentum, and Clint watches Maggie's continued fall with _great _satisfaction. 'If you wanted my arms around you, all you had to do was ask.'__

Clint laughs, and it turns into choking on blood. The faceplate snaps up, and Stark shifts his grip to something more gentle, expression tense.

'Shit,' Stark stares at him, eyes flicking in what Clint's going to assume is a stocktake of his injuries. 'Come on, let's get you back to bitching out the nurses.'

'My favourite,' Clint mumbles, and lets himself pass out again.

****

He wakes (hooray again for Team SHIELD Medical!) to the wonderful sight of Phil's face. He grins, or at least he tries to; his face has the weird too-distant feel of anaesthetic, and reaches up to cup Phil's cheek. His throat is too dry, so his 'hey' is more of a breath than a word.

Phil catches Clint's hand in both of his, pressing a desperate kiss to Clint's palm and closing his eyes and just _breathing _. Clint's too fuzzy to do anything except smile goofily, but if he wasn't about thirty per cent injury he'd be dragging Phil down to mess up the bed some.__

' _Never _do anything that reckless again!' Phil manages after a few deep breaths, voice sounding ragged. Clint studies his face; Phil looks _wrecked _, the shine of unshed tears in his eyes.____

Clint feels a stab of guilt; he's going to do dumb shit and one day it'll kill him. He hadn't realised it would affect Phil like this, though and he kicks himself. He tugs Phil down for a dry kiss, trying to reassure Phil that he's OK.

Phil makes a sound horribly like a sob, and buries his face in Clint's shoulder. Clint curls his fingers in Phil's hair, and they stay like that for a long time.

****

The martinets in medical don't let Clint out for two weeks this time, and he spends the second week actually _TIED DOWN _, much to Stark's amusement and Clint's fury.__

He's pretty sure Phil doesn't stray more than twelve feet from his bed the whole time, and he's never seen the nursing staff actually afraid until one of them made the mistake of getting a little rough when changing Clint's bandages.

'Can I borrow you for the weekend?' Stark asks Phil as the nurse in question flies out the door at Mach 3. 'Mrs Arbogast-'

'I'm not helping you cow the only woman since Pepper who's been able to keep you in line,' Phil doesn't look up from his check of Clint's bandages.

Clint laughs loud at Stark's pout, and slaps Phil's hands away. 'I'm _fine _, you giant manny.'__

Phil just gives him an unamused look and refastens the restraints.

'Aw, come _on _, man!' Clint tugs uselessly before letting his head drop back against the pillows. 'Not cool.'__

Phil runs a hand through Clint's hair, eyes soft. 'If this is the only way to get you to rest until you're fully recovered, I'm one hundred per cent on board.'

Clint sighs. 'Figures you wouldn't wait to tie me up.'

Phil grins. 'Ask again when those bruises have faded.'

****

'No fucking way,' Clint can't keep his jaw from dropping when Stark does the unveiling of Avengers Tower three days after he's finally released.

Stark just rocks back on his heels, hands thrust into the pockets of two thousand dollar slacks and a pair of obnoxious red-tinted shades obscuring his eyes. Clint shakes his head and turns to stare at the apartment.

'There's a floor each,' Stark says, knocking Clint with his shoulder as he walks past. 'Plus a communal floor with training room, gym, shooting-slash-archery range, what have you. Oh, and a roof pool.'

Clint's never lived in a _house _as big as this apartment. Hell, he thinks he might never have lived anywhere the size of the damn kitchen. He turns to Phil, who still hasn't stopped his helicopter mom impression even though the doctor finally signed Clint's discharge papers. Phil smiles at him, and fuck it, Stark knows they're together. Clint grabs Phil and plants one on him, slamming Phil against the wall.__

'Yeah,' Stark says, heading past them to the elevator. 'When I said a floor each, I counted the two of you as one. Enjoy; we're having a cook out by the pool as house warming at six. Don't be late!'

Clint flaps a hand in the general direction of Stark's voice, but neither he or Phil is really paying attention to anything but each other.

****

Fury turns up to the house-warming cook out bearing a bottle of something called 'Passion Pop' (which Clint feels an irresistible urge to try, even though he can _tell _he'll regret it) and a file folder. He jerks his head for Clint and Phil to follow him, and heads around the pool to stand well away from the rest of the team.__

'We've got a potential problem,' he says, handing the folder to Phil. 'We've dredged the river for a mile in either direction, and we haven't found her body.'

Phil freezes, all the tension Clint had been so successful at draining ratcheting right back up. Clint eases the folder out of his hands and flips through it.

'Doesn't necessarily mean anything,' he observes, skimming over photos of scummy water and SHIELD agents in wetsuits.

Fury shrugs. 'And I think we know now that just because someone _ought _to be dead, there's no guarantee they _are _dead,' he glares across the pool at Stark. 'Case in point.'____

Clint frowns, first at the file, then at Fury. He can't deny the frisson of adrenaline that the possibility gives him, but they beat her once. He looks over to the rest of the Avengers: Natasha laughing with Banner, Thor wearing a novelty apron and studying the burgers on the grill with intense concentration, Stark and Cap lying on deck chairs about six inches too close to pass for friendly. He turns to Phil, studying the fine lines marking how stressed he is and how much he cares.

'Fuck her,' Clint decides, slinging an arm around Phil's shoulder and squeezing. 'If she turns up again, we'll kick her ass.'

'Damn straight,' Fury grunts, and they rejoin the party.

**Author's Note:**

> And, urgh, if anyone has suggestions for a less cliched title, lob them my way plzandthx (alternately, if the title fits, let me know/ignore and I'll leave it)  
> 'Hyperopia Blows'?


End file.
